The Fear of the Dragons
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: They were fascinating to him; with no fear in his heart he had always approached them, and dragons could sense that. He did not fear them, and so they did not fear him. / Nordic 5, Vikings dragons. Based on art by ducere.


Author's note: Leifr sucks at bed-time stories, Ketill wants all the nice things, Björn has control issues, Tófi is a whiner, and Egill is adorable. Oh and there's dragons because this is based on **ducere**'s three beautiful pieces of art of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark with dragons.

Here's a chart if you need help keeping all the names straight:

Norway: Leifr (21); Nanna (female)  
Sweden: Björn (24); Völundr (male)  
Denmark: Ketill (23); Ǫrvar (male)  
Iceland: Egill (5); Skuld (female)  
Finland: Þórfreðr/Tófi (7); none

* * *

**The Fear of the Dragons**

The span of the dragon was twice the length of its young body, wings spread as if it could take flight against the chain tying it to the earth. Leifr watches it spit fire upwards into the sky, trying to climb higher, higher, and it makes his heart race, his eyes go wide and fill with that fire. This one is so full of life.

"A female?" an annoyed voice chimes in from behind.

"More dangerous," a deeper one booms, slipping an arm around Leifr's shoulders to kiss his head. On the Norseman's other side, cowering beneath his arm, is a little boy.

In a small voice the boy protests, "I don't like danger!" His brother and protector only smiles more at the words.

"Do not fret Egill, you will come to see no harm from this one." The dragon roars once more before, exhausted, laying on the ground. She curls in on herself, beautiful line of purple down her head and neck, her eyes wide and bright and glistening with something unbreakable that Leifr loved in dragons.

"I should have picked his," the annoyed voice interrupts once more, stepping up so that he too was in the line Björn and Leifr and Egill made, Ketill's eyes never leaving the young dragon. "It would have been a great honor Leifr."

Björn quirks a smile at that. "Pity it was not yours to have." How he baits him; Leifr closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets their petty arguments go. From beneath the Swedish arm he steps forward, taking Egill with him, one, two, three steps. From there he pushes the young one who whimpers and stomps his feet, saying nothing in fear of provoking the dragon.

Yet the boy still continues to step forward; Leifr had raised him to be brave, after all.

Cautiously, one hand outstretched, Egill moves in as if to almost pet the dragon. She retreats, obviously frightened herself though Egill does not notice how her large eyes fall upon Björn's sword, the one he had used to subdue her and pry her from her mother. When he moves forward again though and Björn turns slightly, sword leaving the dragon's vision, the young female lays her head down and allows Egill to touch her scales.

Leifr had never been more proud in all his life.

* * *

As the sun draws down low Leifr still keeps his eyes trained on his brother and dragon. Ketill is off with his own beast, a monstrous silver-purple things with red eyes and great teeth. He looked fierce and he was, as straight as the arrow he was named for. Ǫrvar had come to Ketill as a challenge to the young boy from a king who doubted his prowess; when Ketill proved his worth he was named the next king. Yet the Dane would not be satisfied this day until he had had his ride, Leifr watching him rise high into the sky before taking off to the north.

"Here," someone to his left comments and turning his head for only a moment Leifr sees Björn approach, pointing to beside the Norseman. Tófi, reluctantly, sits where he had been told. The child from well east of Leifr's home had no dragon for himself, the frustrated Swede's words of, "Stay till I return and do not move Þórfreðr," cutting through Leifr's thoughts. Björn had said Tófi was not strong enough for a dragon, would never be good with one. In the boy they recognize a strength that would one day come to fruition but the tallest of them was right: Tófi was no dragon Viking.

Stepping to him, his eyes having fallen back to Egill inspecting his new dragon's back left foot, Leifr murmurs quietly, "Am I to be left all alone with the children like some slave woman while the men go off and play?" His eyes dart quickly back to take in the Swede, dressed all in blue to contrast Ketill's red, the man's hand on his sword. "My dragon will need to be ridden too."

"Tomorrow," Björn says suddenly, a hand grabbing the side of Leifr's face to force him to look him in his sea-green eyes so like that of the man's own dragon. "Tomorrow," and his word is softer this time as he leans in, eyes open till the last minute. The feel of his lips on Leifr's makes both men groan, the kiss over too soon.

And with that Björn was off to Völundr with his coloring the perfect mixture of earth brown and sea blue. He is the more skilled of the two male dragons, and whether it was Björn who had trained Völundr or Völundr who had trained Björn, Leifr could quite never decide; perhaps they had learned from each other, the great beast taking off after Ketill and Ǫrvar.

Unchained as always Nanna comes forward once the male dragons are gone, Leifr's eyes back over his brother running small hands over each spike in the dragon's tail. "What shall you call her?" the Norseman calls out, knowingly placing a hand on Nana's curled horn. She was not as fierce in her looks as Ǫrvar, nor as beautiful as Völundr with whom she was to be mated, but Nanna inspired fear like no other dragon. She was a female with a mind all her own; no one else could ride her but Leifr, not even Björn. Her hide was the color of blood, the same as her eyes, the same as her teeth after battle. When he was injured she would bring her master to one of the other men, leaving Leifr to go and finish the fight. Nanna never failed.

"Skuld!" the small voice calls back, looking those purple eyes head on. "Skuld." The dragon understands, nodding her head and looking to Leifr and Nanna. The older dragon snorts a small puff of smoke and fire sparks.

* * *

"For what purpose do we keep the dragons?" Egill asks as Leifr puts him to bed, laying the pale child down. In the moonlight their hair and skin seem more white, almost elvish. Ketill's skin was burnt, his hair a dark blond. Björn had the pale skin but his hair too was darker than theirs. Even Tófi could not compare to how fair they were in coloring, though the boy spent so many days inside.

"We keep them," Leifr begins, laying beside his brother, "and they keep us; who is to say which came first?"

"But they are dangerous! Why do we keep such dangerous things so close to us where they could so easily hurt us, end us?"

"Ah." In the room there were few personal affects: Egill's old crib should they need it for a new babe, the few toys Björn had carved him from wood or Ketill had brought back from far away lands, books on ruins Leifr teaches him to keep his brother safe. "You do not yet appreciate how close they always are to us."

"What do you mean Brother?"

"They say there is a great dragon," Leifr, starts, wide eyed as he takes in his brother. To tell him stories, their stories, their stories and mythologies and histories, was the Norseman's favorite. "Jǫrmungandr, the child of a giantess and the god Loki. He has incredible powers, limitless, more than you and I could ever imagine. And for that he was cast deep into the ocean by Odin, to try and stop his strength from ever increasing. But he still grew, stronger, larger. He now wraps about the whole of the earth, holding his own tail. When he lets go…."

"When he lets go what‽" There is panic in the five-year-old's voice.

"When he lets go, the world will end." Leifr smirks.

As he rises sheets are pulled over the small boys head by smaller hands, Egill repeating, over and over, "I don't want to destroy the earth. I don't want to die by a dragon. I don't want to destroy the earth. I don't want to die by a dragon." Leifr presses his lips to the boy's head, smoothing his hair.

"We keep the dragons," he murmurs against the soft skin of one cheek, "so that we will not destroy the earth. Do not fall asleep until Ketill arrives." When the boy nods he leaves.

* * *

Moonlight streams through the corridor, Leifr's body still as illuminated as it had been in his brother's room. But his mind is already a thousand miles away, deep blue eyes out the windows to take in the deep blue sky. All around them were still the traditional long houses; they and they alone had a grand castle for the king.

Dragons had never frightened Leifr. Perhaps it was because he had grown where the land met the sea, both dominions those of dragons. Like the darkness and despair the land often gave them, dragons too caused hardship and agony. But Leifr never feared them, saw something beautiful in the way their fire licked at wood or how the scales on a dragon's back would flex as it moved. They were fascinating to him; with no fear in his heart he had always approached them, and dragons could sense that. He did not fear them, and so they did not fear him.

Fear was what motivated dragons, that much Leifr and Björn and even Ketill understood. They were caged animals, held down by man though many did not realize how they so offended the creatures. They were not monsters, they were beautiful but strong creatures who had no idea what they could do, no real concept of that power. Was that not why the men carved dragons into the bows of their ships? For protection, to tap into that power the mighty serpents contained? What many saw as evil Leifr saw as a gift from the gods. Why would they ever create something imperfect? That was nonsense.

The sound of clanking resonates down the hall as Ketill approaches. "We will raid soon, in a few days perhaps," he announces and Leifr nods in understanding, drawing his furs closer about his shoulders. "You look beautiful," the Dane sighs, a hand coming out to stroke his cheek. Leifr presses his face into the touch, lips kissing and nipping at the skin. For all the faults Ketill possessed (and he possessed many), Leifr still loved and adored him.

"You looked magnificent today, in your red tunic."

"It's new," he informs him proudly. "My wife made it for me."

"The pretty one?" Leifr teases, stepping in closer and allowing the furs to fall away from his shoulders again to reveal the smooth skin of his upper chest. Ketill's hands ghost over it, never quite giving in to touching but shaking with want. "Fuck her good for me tonight, like you used to fuck me."

"Of course." There's a momentary pause after that before arms pulls them together, both men reaching out to grab the other. Lips crash in a passionate kiss, Leifr being slammed back against the outer wall. Ketill's tongue dives into his mouth, swirling about, before he pulls back and rests his forehead against the Norse one. "Björn will be accompanying me on the raid yes?"

"I do believe so."

"Then Egill's sword lessons will have to wait until I return, and presumably his dragon lessons will wait as well for Björn."

"I know you would prefer," Leifr begins, "that I allow you to teach Egill the ways of the dragon, but I won't." What he means but doesn't say, though they both understand, is that Ketill once lost Leifr's trust and when it came to dragons, there had to be complete and utter trust. "I will teach him to not be afraid of the dragon, as he already isn't with a sword; when the raiding party returns, you two may start your lessons then."

"Good, good." Ketill finally rises, a hand running through his hair, before asking, "Egill still up?"

"He waits for you to say goodnight."

"Then I will see you in the morning," and like that the Dane carries on, his wide shoulder and strong back much admired from where Leifr leans against the wall. Ketill was a really handsome man.

* * *

His feet weave through the halls until he passes Tófi's room, Björn putting his own ward to bed.

"But Egill gets one! That's not fair!" The pitch his voice hits when upset makes Leifr's blood curdle, resting against the wall out of sight.

"Look at me: do I care? Þórfreðr you will have your creature, but not a dragon. This is not a discussion."

"But-"

"No." Despite how quiet the word is it's like shouting when spoken with that voice.

"I am sorry for upsetting you," Tófi begins, tears in his voice. There's the sound of movement where presumably Björn hugs his ward because despite how strict he is, he loves the boy. That is why he protects him.

"We will talk more about your training when I return from the raid. Until then, sleep my beautiful Þórfreðr."

Björn does not seem surprised when he finds Leifr in the now-dark hallway, moving slowly to him. Where with Ketill there is a sense of now or never, with the Swede it's more of a feeling that this could go on forever if he so willed it. Arms warp around his waist, Leifr's hands opening the slit on the front of Björn's shirt just a little bit wider to feel the cool muscle beneath.

"I will miss you, when you leave." The Swede grunts.

"Good." That's when lips take his in a kiss that's sweet, that's needy, that's loving and that makes Leifr's heart ache. He cradles the Swedish head in his Norse hands, pressing into the man.

Like riding a dragon, the thrill of kissing Björn never lessened.

* * *

His chest is relatively smooth, free of scars; the few he has though are deep, needed Leifr's magic to bind. Most of Björn's are on his back because to hurt him his opponent could never attack like a man, from the front. With Ketill there's always a misstep, a distraction, and then an opening. With Björn there is only ever the fight before him, and the coward who dares strike from behind.

Fingers trace the lines of Swedish muscles, hand rising and falling as Björn drifted to sleep. "Odin you're always good," he murmurs and that makes Leifr smile. He did so love to please the Swede, to pleasure him for hours. Such activities were, after all, pleasurable for both parties.

But even as his body relaxes from the passion, Leifr rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling, his mind whirls imagining dragons: Nanna and Völundr together in their soon-to-be nest, Ǫrvar patrolling, Skuld in a tiny barn passing her first night without her family.

They once told him, many years ago, that there was a dragon that bit at the roots of Yggdrasil, as if it could somehow take control of the nine worlds: of men and of elves, of gods and of giants, of ice and of fire, of the dead. Leifr pictures it, pictures it as a sort of amalgamation of all the dragons he had ever fought in the heat of battle, laying on its back as if it had all the time in the world, just to play with all of creation. Raw power, it would be nothing more than raw, absolute power.

How Leifr loved dragons.


End file.
